The Tale of Castle Cottage

by Susan Wittig Albert

  “Not at all,” Beatrix said, stepping back. “Come in—you’re just in time for pie and coffee. And you can meet Mr. Heelis.” She smiled, teasing. “I think you already know something about him, don’t you? Will, this is my brother, Bertram.”

  “Ah, Potter!” Will exclaimed, getting up and coming forward to shake hands. “Very good to meet you, at long last! Yes, do come in and have dessert with us, won’t you?”

  Beatrix cut three pieces of pie and three wedges of cheese and put down another cup and saucer. Glancing at Bertram’s valise beside the door, she said with some surprise, “You’re going back to Scotland today? I thought it was to be tomorrow.”

  “Yes, today,” Bertram replied, taking a chair. “To tell the truth, it was a bit uncomfortable around Lindeth.” He ducked his head. “I’ve told them, Bea. I couldn’t stand the suspense, so I did it yesterday, instead of waiting until today. And believe me, it wasn’t easy.”

  Will turned curiously to Beatrix but said nothing.

  Beatrix sighed. Confronted with it now, she had no choice but to explain. “Bertram has told Mama and Papa about his marriage,” she said to Will. She caught his suddenly sharp glance. He understood the implications without any further explanation. To Bertram, she added, “I’m sorry it was so difficult. I don’t need to ask about their reactions.”

  Bertram picked up his fork. “Well, I could only do my best. As you can imagine, Mama flew into hysterics. Papa was absolutely apoplectic. Mama said she never wanted to see me again, and Papa vowed to disinherit me—not a shilling of his precious money will ever be wasted on me. It was hours before they were calm enough to discuss the matter rationally.” He forked a bite of pie.

  Beatrix looked up in surprise. “Discuss it rationally? They were able to do that?”

  “More or less,” Bertram replied. “Although not without continuing recriminations, of course,” he added ironically.

  “Of course,” Beatrix replied. “Those can go on for weeks. And probably will.”

  “Which is why I elected to go back to Scotland a day early.” Bertram put his fork down and looked from one to the other. “But I did want to come over and tell you that you and Heelis have their permission to marry.”

  Permission to marry. The words seemed to hang in the air over the table, shimmering. Permission to marry . . . to marry . . .

  Beatrix swallowed. She opened her mouth, tried to speak, and found that her throat was so dry and her tongue so thick that she could not utter a word.

  But Will wasn’t speechless. “Say that again, Potter,” he commanded sharply.

  Bertram pushed his empty plate back and put his hand over Beatrix’s. “You and Heelis have the parents’ permission to marry,” he repeated slowly and distinctly. “You may marry now, soon, or at a time of your choosing.” He laughed a little. “Although if I were you, I’d do it soon. Or at least make a public announcement, so they can’t somehow change their tune.”

  “But why . . . how . . .” Beatrix managed.

  “They were completely flummoxed by my announcement, that’s how,” Bertram replied. “They were so flummoxed that when I told them that they had to let you live your own life, they agreed.” He gave her a wry grin and released her hand. “Maybe they were afraid that if they denied you, you and Heelis would take a leaf from my book and marry in secret. So they chose the lesser of two evils.”

  Will leaned forward, his face a study in astonishment, delight, and uncertainty, all three at once. “Their permission?” he asked urgently. “You’re sure about that, Potter?”

  “Absolutely sure,” Bertram said. He drained his coffee cup. “But just the same, I suggest that the two of you go over there tomorrow or the next day, together, and tell them when you plan to do it. To marry, that is.”

  “We’ll go today,” Will said, pushing his chair back. “Get your hat, Beatrix.”

  Beatrix got up, too, protesting. “But Will, I—”

  “No buts,” Will said sternly. “I’ll ask Woodcock if we can borrow his Rolls. Potter, if you’re taking the afternoon train, you’ll be going back on the ferry. You can ride with us.”

  Beatrix put out her hand. “But I’m not ready, Will! I have to think! I have to—”

  “Hush,” Will said, and put his finger across her lips. “I’ve waited long enough for this, Beatrix—long enough for you. Don’t make me wait a minute longer than I have to.”

  And when he put it that way, Beatrix could only agree.

  23

  Wedding Bells

  I’m sure you want to hear all about the wedding, don’t you? Imagining this wonderful event, I felt it would be delightfully appropriate if Miss Potter and Mr. Heelis were to be married at St. Peter’s Church in Far Sawrey, by the Reverend Samuel Sackett, with the Woodcocks and the Kittredges and the Braithwaites and Lady Longford and all their village friends in attendance, dressed in their very best. The church would be quite crowded, but I’m sure that everyone would find a place.

  As to the weather, the ceremony would take place on a beautiful autumn day—perhaps a Saturday afternoon—and the sun would be so charmed by the event that he would shine from sunrise to sunset without allowing a single cloud to cross his beaming face. I do not imagine that Mr. and Mrs. Potter will attend the wedding. After all, they are not fond of the village and they know almost nothing of the villagers— and this is not exactly the happiest of events for them. They are indeed gaining a son, as the saying goes, but they are losing a daughter. That is, when Beatrix is married, she will be living with her husband in Sawrey. She will no longer be at her mother’s beck and her father’s call, and they will miss her devoted attentions. But of course, they are free to come if they choose. I am sure that everyone would welcome them.

  Now, then. Thinking about the wedding party, I felt that Mrs. Woodcock would most likely be Miss Potter’s choice as her matron of honor, and that Mr. Heelis would ask Captain Woodcock to be best man—that would be fitting, don’t you think? The bride might be dressed in a lovely white lacetrimmed gown with a flowing white tulle veil caught by a cap of silk flowers trimmed with pearls, and her matron in pink. (Mrs. Woodcock looks so well in pink.) Both would carry bouquets of pink and white lilies from the Hill Top gardens, with fresh ferns and rosemary and trailing ivy. The groom and groomsman would wear handsome morning coats and fresh boutonnieres of tiny white flowers made and presented by the bride.

  Before the ceremony, I’m sure that Mrs. Grace Sackett (accompanied on the organ by Miss Rebecca Randall) would offer a memorable rendition of “Oh, Promise Me.” And after the wedding, there would be a lovely reception at Major Kittredge’s Raven Hall, and of course all the villagers would be invited. Sarah Barwick would bake and decorate a tiered wedding cake—a culinary masterpiece—whilst Mr. and Mrs. Barrow (from the pub) would provide hams and cold tongue and salads and many other delightful refreshments. The great hall would be decorated with bouquets of wildflowers gathered from the surrounding countryside by the village children, under the direction of Deirdre and Jeremy Crosfield. Lady Longford (who had allowed Miss Potter to persuade her to donate The Book of the Revelation of John to the British Museum and was now quite proud of her generosity) would be asked to offer the first toast, which would then be followed by such a round of toasting as the village has never before seen.

  And when the toasting is finished, the wedding couple and their friends would be serenaded by the Village Volunteer Band (Lester Barrow on trombone, Mr. Taylor and Clyde Clinder on clarinet, Lawrence Baldwin on coronet, and Sam Stern on the concertina), and perhaps Mrs. Heelis would be persuaded to dance with her new husband, whom everyone recognizes as the very best dancer in all of the Land Between the Lakes. Mrs. Regina Rosier of Hawkshead would photograph the entire occasion and would present an album of her photos to Mr. and Mrs. Heelis, so that the wonderful event could be remembered forever, just as it happened.

  And as the autumn afternoon wears on into a cool autumn evening, all the creatures of the Land Between th
e Lakes would undoubtedly creep out of the woods and fields and gather outside the windows to watch the Big Folks celebrating the marriage of their friends. Rascal and Crumpet and Tabitha Twitchit and the other village cats would be there; and those dear badgers from The Brockery and Briar Bank, with Thackeray and the dragon, of course. Professor Galileo Newton Owl has flown in from his beech at the top of Claife Woods. Hyacinth, Primrose, and Parsley have organized the animals to pick baskets of tiny blossoms, and when Mrs. Heelis and her new husband step out of the front door, they step onto a delightful carpet of wildflowers, brought as a special gift by their woodland friends.

  Meanwhile, down at Hill Top Farm, the barnyard animals would no doubt be holding their own celebration. Mustard the old yellow dog and Kitchen the cow and Mrs. Heelis’ three favorite hens, Mrs. Boots, Mrs. Bonnet, and Mrs. Shawl, as well as all the Puddle-ducks, and of course the pigs and Tibbie and Queenie and their multiple lambs—well, what can I say? They are all delighted that the wedding has finally taken place and look forward to seeing Mrs. Heelis every day, rather than just on the days when she manages to escape from London and her parents.

  And then I believe that Mr. and Mrs. Heelis would borrow Captain Woodcock’s blue Rolls automobile and drive off by themselves, perhaps to the Magical Isle of Somewhere, where they can be together, alone, and enjoy a blissfully quiet few days, walking along a glittering beach and sitting before a roaring fire and toasting one another’s health with glasses of bubbly. And kissing and holding one another close and in general behaving exactly like a devoted couple on their honeymoon—and all the more happy a honeymoon for having been delayed for so very long. After a week or two of these intimate pleasures, they would return to the village and take up their everyday lives as a married couple, to the welcoming applause of all their friends.

  Ah, yes. That is how I imagine it, or nearly, and I imagine you did, too. It is entirely lovely and exceedingly romantic, isn’t it?

  But it isn’t what happened.

  What happened—I mean, what really happened—was a great deal simpler, if less romantic. The wedding of Beatrix Potter and William Heelis took place on Wednesday, October 15, in London, at St. Mary Abbots, a large church not far from the Potters’ home. The church, which counted many socially prominent Londoners among its parishioners, boasted a vaulted, cathedral-like nave, elaborate stained-glass windows, and an ornate marble-and-wood altar with a carved Florentine crucifix. It seated seven hundred worshippers.

  But except for the wedding party of six—seven, counting the officiating curate—the vast church was empty. Mr. and Mrs. Potter attended, as did Beatrix’s friend Gertrude Woodward (also an artist and a scientific illustrator) and Will’s cousin, Lelio Stampa, an Oxford don. Beatrix is thought to have worn the same outfit she wore for the wedding photograph her father took the previous day in the family’s garden: a gray tweed suit woven of Herdwick wool, a dressy blouse with a lace jabot, and a flower-trimmed, broad-brimmed hat. William wore a suit.

  Make of all that what you will. What I make of it is that sensible Miss Potter wanted to become Mrs. Heelis with as little fuss and as few feathers as possible, and that her parents—for their own reasons—were glad to have it over and done with and did not wish to invite their friends. There was a brief announcement in the Times and a longer and more admiring story in the Westmoorland Gazette. The writer began, “In the quietest of quiet manners two very well-known local inhabitants were married in London. None of their friends knew of the wedding, which was solemnized in the simplest form, characteristic of such modest though accomplished bridegroom and bride.”

  And the honeymoon? The Magical Isle of Somewhere, the beach and the bubbly?

  No. Sorry to disappoint. The newly married couple returned to Sawrey by train on the day after the wedding. At the Windemere station, they collected Beatrix’s wedding present, a young white bull, which they took on the ferry back to Hill Top Farm. Beatrix also brought pieces of her wedding cake from London to share amongst her village friends. She would perhaps have invited them to their home, but Castle Cottage was not finished. (Are you surprised?)

  But that hardly mattered, I am sure, for at last Beatrix had found her dearest love, and Will had married the wife of his dreams, and the two of them did what all married couples, in every story, should do:

  They lived happily ever after.

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  Historical Note

  Stories don’t always end where their authors intended.

  But there is joy in following them, wherever they take us.

  —Beatrix Potter

  The story of Beatrix Potter is surely one of the most remarkable stories of an entire generation of British women, and I count it an enormous privilege to have traced its outlines over the nearly ten years I have worked on this series. From The Tale of Hill Top Farm to The Tale of Castle Cottage, the books have followed the course of Miss Potter’s life from the 1905 death of her fiancé, Norman Warne, to her marriage to William Heelis in 1913. I have tried to paint an accurate picture of her real life during those pivotal years and to give you some idea of the many forces that shaped her choices and actions. (Not all of the things that happen in the books are real, however: for example, I made up The Book of the Revelation of John, which appears in this story. The Lindisfarne Gospels, of course, are real, and even more beautiful than the fictional Revelation!)

  Many things changed in the years immediately after Beatrix’s October 1913 marriage to her beloved Willie. Beatrix’s father died in May 1914. His will bequeathed £35,000 each to Beatrix and Bertram, with the rest left in trust to Helen Potter, to be divided at her death between the two children. (The Potter estate was valued at the modern equivalent of some eleven million dollars.) This meant that Beatrix’s financial situation was secure and that she no longer had to create books in order to support her farms. After a period of indecision, Mrs. Potter agreed to come to Sawrey, where she moved into a house not far from her daughter—not nearly far enough, probably. Eventually, she closed the house in Bolton Gardens and moved back across Windermere to Lindeth Howe, where Beatrix visited often.

  But all of these family difficulties were overshadowed by the war, which began in August 1914. It was a wrenching experience that changed every British citizen’s life and robbed the nation of nearly a million of its young men. For farm families, it was a terrible time, for labor shortages and the government’s conscription of horses made it hard to plow the fields, and food, medicine, and even coal were in short supply. Bertram tried to enlist but was rejected for health reasons. He died in 1918 of a cerebral hemorrhage at his farm in Scotland—a devastating blow for Beatrix, who corresponded regularly with her brother and loved him dearly.

  Between her farms, her family obligations, and the challenges of a nation at war, the years were so busy that there was no time for art. Shortly after her marriage, Beatrix thought of doing a book called “The Tale of Kitty-in-Boots,” but Harold Warne was not enthusiastic about it, and she dropped the idea. Her next publication was Tom Kitten’s Painting Book, a reissue of an older book with a few new drawings and no story text.

  But it wasn’t just a lack of time and energy that held her back. For years, there had been problems with the payment of her royalties, and by 1917, the publishing company owed their star author a great deal of money. In April of that year, Harold Warne, Beatrix’s editor and Norman’s brother, was arrested for a series of forgeries amounting to some £20,000, resulting from his bad management of a fishing business he had inherited from his mother. Harold pled guilty and was sentenced to prison, and his brother Fruing took over the company. Beatrix, not just Warne’s bestselling author but its largest creditor, helped the firm to stay afloat by producing Appley Dapply’s Nursery Rhymes and The Tale of Johnny Town-Mouse , both of which were greeted with pleasure by reviewers. About Johnny Town-Mouse, the Bookman gushed happily: “Miss Potter need not worry about rivals. She has none.”

  And of course, w
hile she was dealing with all these publishing upsets and demands, there were the continued challenges of the war years, as well as epidemics of measles and influenza in the village and periods of dreadful storms, floods, and rains, which ruined harvests and caused great suffering. In June 1918, William got his call-up papers, but his age (forty-six) and a bad knee kept him at home, much to everyone’s relief.

  But finally, the awful war was over. Mrs. Heelis could turn her attention to farming, to her sheep, and to the project that she and Willie had long discussed: acquiring more Lake District property in order to protect it from development. In 1924, with Willie’s legal assistance, she bought the 2,000-acre Troutbeck, the area’s most spectacular hill-farm, and five years later, the Monk Coniston Estate, some 4,000 acres of fell and tarn, with several farms and cottages. In the heart of the Lakes, Monk Coniston was a land of incomparable beauty, and the Heelises’ purchase protected it from being carved up into small parcels and used for holiday estates. Again, it was Willie who handled the legal and financial details, while Beatrix undertook the management of the far-flung property. The purchase had been made with the help and cooperation of the National Trust, which bought half the land. Beatrix and Willie kept the rest, to be deeded to the Trust upon their deaths.

  In the 1920s, Beatrix produced two more books, the last of her three-decades-long career: The Fairy Caravan, published in America by Alexander McKay (who journeyed from Philadelphia to persuade her to do it); and The Tale of Little Pig Robinson, published simultaneously in America and England. But she was also busy with her own farms and especially with sheep breeding: her Herdwick ewes were acknowledged to be the best in the district. She collected pieces of fine old furniture (some of which can be seen at Hill Top) and did her best to influence local zoning boards to preserve the vernacular architecture of the area.